


A Is To B

by rednihilist



Series: The Longest Road [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Tron: Legacy (2010)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-03
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rednihilist/pseuds/rednihilist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flynn, that's the kid's name. Father was Kevin of course, can't forget him—genius, slightly nuts, good at events. Nicer than his fucking brother, hopefully, but with the same features, same charm, same laugh, and definitely the same level of smarts. Flynn was full into computers, though. Obie was business, strategy, fucking mind games and betrayal and murder, as it turned out. Not a nice guy at all. Hopefully, for the kid's sake, Flynn was the one with all the good qualities like compassion, honesty, parental feeling, responsibility. It'd suck if both Tony and the kid had been screwed over by that family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Is To B

**Author's Note:**

> No profit is gained from this writing—only, hopefully, enjoyment.
> 
> A/N: I don't even know. . .

It's been—a busy couple of years. Sometimes, it feels like life started in that cave with the Ten Rings, with the Mark I. He kind of has trouble remembering all the crap before that. Or at least he thinks he does. Maybe not. Maybe that's a lie. Hard to tell these days, these busy, busy days. There's a lot moving around inside his head. The non-essential stuff kind of gets pushed to the side.

 

Case in point, the kid. He should know him, right? Remember trivial facts about his upbringing and what he's been doing since he grew into a real person, not some adorable little mini-person floating around the parties who smiled and nodded and laughed that high-pitched, little boy laugh, once tugging on Tony's slacks, asking if he knew where Kevin was. But, no, a history report, all the gory details—that sounds like a briefing he should've read at some point but clearly threw onto a pile. Pepper probably put that together herself. She'll know, has likely actually talked to the kid, sent him flowers or fruit baskets or money for graduation or whatever the fuck.

 

He's a looker. That's the first in a string of inane thoughts to pop into Tony's head. They shake hands, fake smile for the kid, awesome grin for Tony, and then he's walking on, and the kid's heading off towards the bar, lucky duck, and it's Schmoozin' Time.

 

Flynn, that's the kid's name. Father was Kevin of course, can't forget him—genius, slightly nuts, good at events. Nicer than his fucking brother, hopefully, but with the same features, same charm, same laugh, and definitely the same level of smarts. Flynn was full into computers, though. Obie was business, strategy, fucking mind games and betrayal and murder, as it turned out. Not a nice guy at all. Hopefully, for the kid's sake, Flynn was the one with all the good qualities like compassion, honesty, parental feeling, responsibility. It'd suck if both Tony and the kid had been screwed over by that family.

 

Maybe Kevin's mom was the deciding factor. Different mothers, Kevin and Obie, and Tony can't remember anything about their dad. Probably a jerk. Most of 'em are, seems like. Moms are the key, though. A good mom, and the sky's the limit. Bad one—forgettaboutit.

 

So, this kid, Kevin Flynn's kid, he's got about a 50/50 shot. Of course, Tony's full-on rooting for ace, but he'll play it cool. If the kid's a schmo like his uncle, best not to get too friendly right off the bat. Best, in the scheme of things, all things Iron Man, SHIELD, and Avengers considered, to take it slow and just stick out some tentative feelers, see if Flynn Jr.'s on the up and up.

 

That takes time, though, planning and effort and determination, and that's just not Tony's style. So, it's, "Excuse me, everyone, I see someone over there I know. Been great catching up with all of you!" and then he's crossing the room, polite nod here, jerkish wave over there at that guy whom he knows from—something or other, and he's walking, walking, and–

 

"Hey, Flynn!" And the kid turns, a kind of startled, wary, rabbit-look on his face. Tony claps a hand on his back, raises an eyebrow at the rough, cheap texture of the tux material he feels, and then he's shifting so he can lean along the bar edge. "Fancy meeting you here," Tony adds, shooting a gesture at the bartender and in return getting, what, what is this—bourbon? Nice. "Long time, no see," he says, diving into the glass head-first.

 

"Uh, yeah," the kid responds, giving Tony a long look and then turning away. He raises his own glass of courage and downs it, only grimacing when he's done, and that thing was half-full, or half-empty, but Tony plays at being an optimist, and if that was nerves, which it likely was, then at least the kid has the fortitude to back it up. Experience drinking? Could be a bad sign to most people.

 

Of course, Tony is famously, infamously, not most people.

 

"You're pretty busy, right?" Tony asks, and the kid looks back again with the best confused expression he's seen in awhile. That thing's textbook "confused." Okay, throw him a bone. "I mean, with the whole taking back the company, doing right by Dad, surrogate father type, all those people who helped you through the hard times, yadda, yadda, yadda." Tony waits a moment, takes another sip, says, "Yeah, that shit's tedious. You're likely chomping at the bit for some good tinkering, am I right or am I right?"

 

Kid blinks, blinks again. Tony raises his eyebrows, sips again.

 

"Yeah, I guess," is the long-awaited answer. A chatterbox, this guy, really. So far, he's said a total of four words and looked at Tony like he's worried for his own personal safety. This is so not on. They're peers, for Cap's sake, fellow nerds, geeks, techies. Not even Rhodey was this hard in the beginning, and Tony was pretty hammered when the two of them first met. Or, or Bruce—and wasn't that awesome, getting that guy into a lab straightaway and picking his brain. Awkward but not insurmountable.

 

Rhodey, Bruce, Tony, Cap, and–

 

"So, hey, you want to set up a play-date or something?" Tony suggests. "Because, not to brag or anything, but I'm pretty sure my stuff beats your stuff. Hey, there's an idea! We could," and here he taps Flynn on the chest just to make sure he's really paying attention, and the kid actually looks down, and Tony is a good, good human being because he resists the urge to lift his hand up and flick the guy on the nose, "you know, have a healthy competition, see who's the cleverest. Or, hey, maybe you're not into the whole dog eat dog world of today's market. That's okay too. You know where I live?" Tony waits—again.

 

"Your tower?" the kid says, and it's fucking shyly sardonic! Tony loves this kid!

 

"Bet your sweet ass, I do!" Tony crows, and in response he gets a snort and a head shake, and that's pretty good. He can work with that. "And you know what they say about my tower, don'tcha?"

 

Make or break time.

 

Sure enough, kid fully turns to face him, mirrors him in leaning against the bar top, smirking like the sweet, adorable, absolutely snarky little shit Tony kind of sort of remembers from those ridiculous parties that, in hindsight, were terribly 80s with big hair and horrendous suits and maybe some neon that Tony's not too proud of, and he says, "That it's big and shiny and really, really clean—Mr. Stark?" And then he leers, raises his eyebrows and glances at Tony's crotch, and the innuendo is solid gold.

 

Tony laughs, just lets it rip, and people are turning, and he's glad. Let them feel jealous and left out because this is awesome. He likes this guy.

 

"I like you, kid," he says, wiping a fake tear of laughter from his eye as he sets his drink glass down and pats the guy's shoulder again. "Come on," Tony tells him, standing up and jerking his jacket straight. He grabs Flynn's upper arm and tows him along, explaining, "We're breaking out of here. Places to be, super-folks to meet, things to explode."

 

"'Explode'?" Flynn repeats, dubiously, which makes Tony chuckle. Of course that's what he'd latch onto. Of course.

 

"Or not explode. It's all a matter of interpretation, really. One man's IED is, you know, another guy's backscratcher." Tony laughs then, reminded of Cap's latest gripe. "Oh, man, have I got a story for the road," he says, stepping in front, pushing through the crowd outside but keeping a firm grip on Flynn because this is serious business coming through here, and he doesn't want the kid left behind. "Which," he continues, shouting back in the vicinity of the kid's ear, "you are totally going to accuse me of making up but that I swear in fact actually occurred. I mean, there's no coming up with this stuff! Comedy writers the world over would salivate for just the Cliff Notes of what goes on in my tower. . . "

 

"Jesus, is it always like this?" Flynn shouts back, but they're at the curb now, and there's fucking Happy, that glorious man, standing with the rear passenger door open and a bemused look on his face.

 

"You ain't seen nothing yet, Short Round!" Tony calls back. "Now, get in! Get in before they start feeding!" And he half-turns, pulls the kid forward by the back of his neck and, with an experienced hand, pushes him down and into the car. "Scoot over," he says, sliding in, and Happy slams the door shut behind him and darts around the back of the car, getting in the driver's seat and taking off like the absolute pro he is.

 

"Tower, sir?" he calls back, and it's so quiet in the car after the ambush outside of the hall.

 

"Yep!" Tony confirms, settling back and then shooting a look over at Flynn. "Don't tell me you're not being hounded everywhere you go these days. Something as tasty and green as you? Piranhas should be all over you."

 

Flynn chuckles, says cryptically, "Yeah, they try."

 

And after thinking about it for a bit, _he's a looker, cheap suit and no fashion sense, knows his booze, still funny, pretty dirty but that's money for ya, nice hair_ , Tony gives voice to his latest realization.

 

"So, I'm not going to wax poetic about your dad. He was cool. The end."

 

Kid doesn't look at him, but he smiles, and, yeah, it's sad, but there's sweetness there too. Good. Kevin Flynn, good job. Tony's glad he wasn't a suck-ass like his brother or fucking Howa–

 

"But," Tony continues, "I am going to demand special privileges, now that we're good buds again, and that means I get to tell funny stories about you as a kid." That gets Flynn to meet his eyes.

 

"What kinds of stories?" he asks, still smiling.

 

Tony shrugs. "The kind that may or may not lead to physical assault and retaliation, most likely in the form of pranks."

 

"Oh, well," says the kid, and he finally shifts and settles back in the seat, "if that's all, then, sure. Knock yourself out." He waits a beat, quiet, but the tension's there, and Tony turns his head back to the front, waiting for the punch line and maybe smiling kind of stupidly. "I gotta warn you, though," Flynn confides, leaning towards Tony conspiratorially, "I do have, in my possession, certain photos of a somewhat, uh, sensitive nature."

 

Tony's about to snark back, has his mouth open and the words ready and everything, and then Happy, fucking Happy, beats him to it.

 

"Is it the mullet?" Happy calls back.

 

And whatever ground Tony loses with that is covered by the sound of Flynn's laugh. He adds another point to his list.

 

 

 


End file.
